


Perfect Bow

by Pennyplainknits



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-13
Updated: 2010-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/pseuds/Pennyplainknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another ficlet, for the Place: Thighs square on my Kiss Bingo. I thought I'd try a new fandom! <i>due</i>South is <i>hard</i> dudes! Inspired in part by the bit in <i>Letting Go</i> where the physical therapist details Fraser's imperfections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Bow

  
Benton Fraser has bowed legs.

Ray hadn't noticed them at first, hadn't noticed for a good two and a bit years, so intent was he on keeping his eyes firmly above belt level.

Not, of course, that he thought Fraser would do much beyond crick his neck and hum and haw, had Ray let his eyes wander. But this partnership was the best thing Ray'd had going for him since, well, since Stella. Early Stella that is. Ray wouldn't have risked messing it up for the world.

Even after, in the North, on the Quest, they were both wearing far too many layers of wool and leather and fur for Ray to even be sure that there was a _person_ inside Fraser's clothes.

Hell, even after they started sleeping together Ray didn't notice, not at first. And he didn't blame himself, not really. Not with Benton Fraser handling him like he was something precious (as if!) and losing the last bits of the persona he showed the world. Ray was far more interesting in getting to know this dorky, relaxed, _happy_ Benton (and how had he ever thought Fraser was happy in Chicago? Really happy?) to bother about working out the precious deviation of Fraser's bowlegs. Math had never been his strong point anyway.

So, it wasn't until after the whole transfer had been sorted out (nuclear subs make _great_ bargaining chips, apparently) and the last box had been unpacked and he'd had a freak out about milk in bags (bags!) that he really noticed. Fraser was standing in their tiny bathroom, in his stupid old fashioned white shorts and his tank top, shaving carefully. Ray leaned in the doorway, waiting for him to finish, and took the opportunity to ogle. Hell, it was _Fraser_. He'd never get sick of looking at him.

And that's when he noticed. The slight, but still obvious curve, Fraser's well-muscled thighs bowing outward just a little before coming back together at the knees. It was so unexpected- this tiny crack in the perfection that was Fraser that he couldn't help but blurt out

"You've got bowlegs! I never noticed! Actual bowlegs, like a cowboy or something!" He chuckled, expecting Fraser to join in with him, or at least reply with some long-winded explanation of the effect of horse riding on the quadriceps. Instead Fraser just rinsed off the razor and said,

"I'm glad my legs give you some amusement, Ray," icily, before pushing past him in the narrow doorway and going into the bedroom to dress.

"What was that about?" Ray asked the empty bathroom. He wanted to follow Fraser, find out what he'd done wrong, but they were both running late that morning, and he needed to hit the shower if he was going to get to work on time.

The kids at the community centre ran him ragged all day, and then Flick had shown up, tearful and distraught, and he'd spent over an hour talking to her. God knows why a sixteen year old wannabe goth had chosen _him_ for a confidante, but he was glad she had. Boys, especially horny seventeen year old boys, were assholes the world over, it appeared.

Fraser was working late, it seemed, and Ray crawled into bed, exhausted, at barely ten in the evening. He told himself that it was the busy day, and the early Northern nights, not that he was getting old. No way.

He felt the bed dip as Fraser got into it, and waited happily for the full-body hug that was Fraser's preferred sleeping position. Instead, Fraser curled up on himself, his back a tense line.

This was ridiculous. He poked Fraser between the shoulder blades until he rolled over and faced him.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Nothing at all Ray," Fraser said, in that voice he hardly ever used any more.

"Bullshit," Ray said. "Is it something I said?"

"Whatever gave you that prepos-"

"It is!" Ray said, cutting him off. "You're upset, about what I said this morning?" It was the only thing it could be, but it was ridiculous.

"You," Fraser broke off, and then smoothed his eyebrow, a clear tell if ever there was one, before continuing, "You called me a _cowboy_ , Ray." He looked pained.

Ray snuggled closer and pulled Fraser to him, despite his protests. It had been a real kick to discover that Fraser soaked up physical contact like a cat, as if making up for all those hugs he _didn't_ get before Ray came along. Fraser was warm and solid against him. Felt real. Felt like home.

"Hey," Ray said softly "I kind of like cowboys you know."

"And," Fraser continued "I've always had the deformity, and young children can be very cruel." It was the low, sad tone of voice he used to talk about otters, and Ray wanted to go back in time and punch every single bully that thought they could pick on the slightly odd kid as much as they liked.

"Hey," he said, "'s not a deformity."

"It is," Fraser said stubbornly.

"Well, I like your deformities," Ray said. He rolled Fraser over so he could look at him, try and make him believe him. "I like this scar here," he kissed the new scar that bisected Fraser's eyebrow. "And this broken knuckle," he pressed his lips to Fraser's hand, "And these," and he shimmed down the bed and kissed first one thigh, then the other, feeling the solid muscle even under the flannel pajama pants Fraser wore. "You know why?" he asked, as he rested his head on Fraser's chest, fingers stroking up and under his shirt.

"Why?" Fraser asked, shifting into the touch.

"You're so, so god damned perfect," Ray said, rubbing his cheek against Fraser. "Looking at you, I mean. Like a painting or something. And if there's a bit of you that's less than perfect, it's,"

"Yes?" Fraser said

"Well, its like you're ok to be with me. 'cause God knows Fraser, I'm not perfect." he finished, feeling a bit stupid.

He felt Fraser's hand on his jaw, then Fraser's lips against his.

"I'm not perfect either," Fraser said. "But, I think Ray, that _we are_."

Fraser even made that corny line work. Oh yeah. Perfect. Or, at least, perfect enough.


End file.
